


Ablaze

by orphan_account



Series: kink meme summer '15 [1]
Category: Castle
Genre: Community: kink of the castle, F/M, Kink Meme, Precinct Sex, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Semi-Public Sex, storage closet sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castle kink meme summer '15.<br/>Beckett/Castle<br/>Beckett is pregnant and horny. Castle helps her out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ablaze

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing smut, so please let me know what you think.

There’s something about the second trimester that is so different from the first. The swell of her baby bump. The loss of morning sickness and fatigue. The hormones that drive her _crazy._

There’s something different about him, now, too. He walks a little prouder, stands a little taller. Holds her tighter. Kisses her sweeter. Loves her better than he ever did before, _more_ than he ever did before.

And there’s something about the combination that has her thighs pressed together under her desk.

It’s a quiet day on the precinct. The murder board mostly bare. Their day consisting of searching for a lead in their latest case. The boys are sitting at their respective desks, just like her. And Castle is in his seat at the end of her desk, staring at something on his phone intently.

His brows furrowed. Lips pressed together. Tongue— _Dammit._

She sighs to herself, smiles sheepishly when it makes him look up from his phone, and then looks back at her computer screen. The numbers don’t process. The words lost in the single-focused abyss that is her mind. Her thighs clenched together tightly, hidden, but not in anyway satisfying her building need.

She can _feel_ his eyes on her. Curious, then knowing, then proud. Then dark and sexy and she just _has_ to turn to look at him right then when his pupils are dilating and he _knows_ and she _wants_ him and, _fuck_ , they’re at _work._

But when his tongue drifts across his lips again, she really doesn’t care.

She pushes herself up from her seat, pretending her knees aren’t wobbling and her center isn’t throbbing and _how is she so turned on already?_ But he’s following willingly and, _God,_ he’s getting turned on, too, and she really doesn’t care if anybody notices because the sight makes her insides clench in the best of ways and cheeks burn and she really just needs to get him alone.

She leads him to a storage closet down a usually vacant hall, steps brisk, determined to hide her desperation. But he knows. He _knows_ because she’s making it so obvious. And she’s making it so obvious because it’s actually impossible to hide the fact that she _needs_ him right now.

Needs him inside her. His hands. His mouth. His lips. His tongue. _Fuck._

She pulls the door open, shoves him into the room and follows. And then she’s up against the wall, her belly wedged between them and his lips are on hers, all teeth and tongue, and his hands are on her ass and she’s moaning into his mouth because her mind is suddenly blank of all thought but him and the burning in her core.

When he wedges his thigh between her legs, she’s already rocking against him, thrusting against his hips. His lips are skimming down her neck, teeth nipping, tongue laving and she’s moaning and rocking and she’s so wet she’s positive it’s soaking through her slacks but she doesn’t even care because he’s going to make her come with all her clothes on and he fucking knows it.

Knows it so well that he actually pulls away.

It draws a whimper from her throat as she tries to cling to him, tries to pulls him back because the need for release is coiled so tight, plateaued as he drops her to the ground, hands on her hips and the wall at her back keeping her upright as her eyes flutter open to shoot him an angry glare.

And he’s looking back at her with that infuriating grin that she hates—but loves—so much.

“What the fuck brought this on?” he asks. He’s teasing and he knows it. Mocking her desperation. Making her wait for release.

“Does it really matter right now?”

He takes a step closer to her, looks down at her stomach knowingly. Looks back up like he’s oblivious. “Well, Kate, you did just attack me in a supply closet. I think the least I deserve is an explanation.”

“I’m carrying your child,” she spits back at him, “I think the least I deserve is an orgasm.”

He chuckles. “Touche.” And then his hands are curling around her hips, drifting under the curve of her belly, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her pants. She feels him pop the button of her slacks, the sudden lack of pressure against her stomach. She hears each torturous click of the zipper coming undone, the action so agonizingly slow. She looks down, can barely see as he pulls her pants down over her hips, down her thighs, over her knees until they pile on the floor. Her chest heaves, shirt too tight.

“Is this really necessary?” she huffs.

His fingertips drift across her inner thighs, tickling the sensitive skin, making her clit pulse in anticipation. It’s so excruciatingly soft, his touch, but he’s touching her and she’s pretty sure, given a few minutes, he could actually make her come like this. She’s so needy.

She lasts all of a couple seconds before her hips are thrusting against thin air and his one hand is holding her against the door and she whimpers again. Her hips struggle, his weight too much for her to fight against.

“I can feel how much you want to come, Kate,” he whispers. His breath is close to her ear.

“Then do something about it,” she mumbles.

He leans into her then, resting his mouth against her neck. He hums and it reverberates through her, sends shockwaves to her core. “All you have to give me is an explanation, Kate. What’s got you all hot and bothered?”

She’s determined not to answer, too stubborn to give in and then his fingers are slipping under the waistband of her panties and pulling them down over her hips and his thumb drifts across her thigh as his finger goes _right there._ And he hovers. Right above her clit. Right where she needs him, less than an inch away and he’s doing it on purpose because he wants her to say what he already knows.

He wants an answer. And she’s so desperate she gives him one.

“Not,” she gasps, and his finger traces her slit, catches her juices. Encouraging. A promise for release in return for an answer. “Not hot and bothered. Pregnant.” His hand slips from her hip to rest on her belly and she manages to arch forward just enough for the tip of his finger to brush her clit and she moans and he hears and then he’s holding her against the door again, like punishment for getting pleasure without an answer. “Pregnant, babe, and so fucking horny.”

That’s all it takes. His finger slips inside her sopping core and his thumb finds her clit, rubs a tight circle and a second finger joins the first and that’s really all it takes.

She comes apart on a stuttering gasp and a sloppy thrust of her hips, pleasure burning but brief and when she manages to open her eyes again, looks into his, she _knows_ she’s going to come again. Her hips arc and his thumb presses hard against her clit and he’s looking down to a place she cannot see, awe filling his eyes.

“Again?” he asks. “Already?”

She gasps as he circles her clit, moans when his fingers curl. “I told you. Horny. I… Pregnancy hormones. And you. And _everything._ Fuck, Castle, I want you inside me.” 

He grins against her neck, but makes no effort to move. His fingers slip from within her with a gentle _pop_ and his thumb comes of her clit but he just leaves her there. Horny and needy and trapped between him an the wall, his hand on her hip stopping her from so much as reaching for release.

“ _Castle,_ ” she whines.

He chuckles, all hot breath and vibrating chest that’s pressed hard against her own. His laughter reverberates through her body, through every sensitive, overstimulated nerve of her body, from her nipples to her core to the tips of her toes that curl against nothing.

And no. No. He is not getting her off just by _laughing_ so close to her.

But he is.

And he knows it, knows her and her body and the desperate little whines that escape her throat as she arcs against him, clings to his shirt, holds him close all the while trying to push him away, struggling against his strong hand and the fingers holding her against the door.

He knows her, knows how close she is.

His groan has her peeling her eyes open, finding him staring at where his thumb is circling her clit, at the slightly revealed muscles of her stomach that clench and flutter visibly, despite her baby bump, with both aftershocks and the impending orgasm she’s going to have whether he gets into her or not.

She thrusts pointedly against his fingers, makes him drag his gaze to hers. She grins at him, gasps when he curls his fingers inside her.

“You had better get your pants off now or,” she cuts off on a moan, back arching and toes curling, “or… you will be going out there hard for… everyone to see.”

His growl reverberates in her chest, has her moaning then whimpering when his fingers slip from inside her. She opens her eyes as she feels his hand against her stomach, snaking between their bodies. He quickly pops the button of his pants and she uses the remaining strength she has in her one leg to help him push them off his hips, along with the boxers that follow easily.

His erection comes free and bobs between them and she feels her muscles clench at just the sight of him. Needing him. Begging for him. Aching for him.

“Fast, Rick. I need fast,” she manages. And then she’s reaching down between them, taking him in her hand, struggling to get herself in the right position for him to just—

His fingers curl around her thighs, lift her against the door, pulls her legs around his waist and slips into her easily. Her head falls to his shoulder, a moan tugged from her chest as he fills her. And his lips find her neck, suck greedily as he pounds into her, pressing her hard against the wooden door.

She holds back a scream by biting into his shoulder when she comes. Rolls against him. Clings to him, Muscles clenching desperately, milking his orgasm out of him.

She collapses against him afterwards, feels him still tense below her. She musters what little strength she has left to rock her hips into his once, twice, until he comes inside her with hot spurts that have her moaning all over again.

When he comes down from his high, his hands are framing his belly and his teeth are brushing against the tight tendons of her neck. She’s held up only by his weight against her.

“You gonna be okay to act normal out there?” he whispers against her skin. “‘Cause you’ve never come more than once at work before.”

She grins against him, nods her head. “I’m good. Just give me a second.”

So he does. Keeps her sandwiched against the wall for a minute before slowly letting her support herself. Her knees wobble slightly, and she reaches out for his shoulders. His hands linger on her belly.

“Is it really the pregnancy that’s making you so…?”

She chuckles. “Increased libido is a common symptom during the second trimester, babe.”

He grins. “So you might be like this for… months?” he asks.

She grins back at him, steps closer to him, pushes herself onto her toes so she can whisper in his ear: “Think you can keep up?”

“For you,” he answers, “always.”

“Good,” she whispers, “because we have a few more hours here, but as soon as we get home, be ready for round… three today.”

She’s reaching down for her shirt when she hears him mumble to himself: “I really like the hormones.” And she grins, because she’s really liking them, too.


End file.
